share time: 2026-02-01 02:31:20
In my past life, I watched my son sell our hardware store, cut ties with me, and even get his legs broken by a gold-digging girl—all for a woman who only wanted his money. I died of a heart attack on the way to the hospital. Now I’m reborn to the day he first brought her home. This time, I don’t beg; I grab a slipper and throw it at his back: “Either toss that couple’s watch or get out with her!” The girl pretends to cry? I slap her with cheating photos. My son slams the door and calls me “unreasonable”? I slam the house deed on the table: “Choose her, and you lose everything.” But when I see him squatting at the door late at night, holding the scarf I knitted, crying, “Mom, I saw her holding another man’s hand,” I realize—I’m not kicking away his love. I’m kicking away the blind faith that almost killed him, and the stubbornness that made him lose it all.
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